Benom Miura Naoko

It was less than a week after I moved to Tsuyazaki during the rainy
season that I learned of his uncle’s existence.
It was when each of them was doing a drink while each brought side dishes at Oya, a pool of neighbors. The daughter of the kindergarten who did not listen easily to mr. Nakamura’s going to return said with a tipsy, light red face, “If you don’t hear what you say, I’ll get
it from ‘Uncle
Choda’.” The girl was looking at this room with a hole in the shoji from the next room, but when she heard uncle, she came out with a half cry, “No. It was understood that it was a real person to say uncle, and it was not a kind of youkai transmitted to the region because the laugh that the people who were around at that time put a half beat as if the point said,
ah, that person happened. “Kakuho is also said to be a little bit of a thing sooner or later. I live
alone, especially ken.”

 From that day on, it was less than two weeks before I actually met him. A fat 70-year-old man walked slowly and slowly from the other side, sewing between the rain of rain and stopping on Senken-do street in Tsuyazaki where old houses are lined up. Her hair was short and gray, and her small polo shirt revealed a gaping stomach. He wore clogs on his jersey trousers, and his hands were held in front of his chest as if he had caught a butterfly. It was a habit to tilt the neck for a long time, and it looked good on the troubled face which made the eyebrow a character of ha. The owner, Ming-chan, just came out of Wang Maruya and called out to the man. “Mr. Wu, do
you have an umbrella? Ming-chan, who has just turned 30, is an honorific to everyone older than him, but he doesn’t use honorifics for this person
named Kure, but he has a very gentle tone.
“I don’t see more umbrellas. It’s going to rain. I’m going to go to the garbage, but it’s going to rain.”
“Please, you can take this umbrella.”
“Umbrella? How do I open it?” I can’t open it.”
“Open it this way. If you don’t open it, take it open.”
“Don’t take your umbrella. “But if it rains, you’ll catch a cold?” I can’t hear Ming-chan’s question, or suddenly

I’m like, “Don’t you want something?” I want something to eat. Is there anything?”
Ah, this Mr. Kure is a good uncle.
“Take this umbrella, take it.”

The uncle walked slowly toward the garbage with the umbrella with the embarrassed face.

 After that, I saw a little uncle here and there in Tsuyazaki. I was going to anyone’s house. I’ve been here a few times. It’s a hidden nickname, but I don’t actually say “give it to me.” “I don’t want anything?” is the correct answer. However, it is said, “This is not good”, and it is hardly really taken home even if it is possible to give the thing. Still, “Do you have sweets?” and “Do you have ero shoes?” It is asked, “It is good, and it is not 80?3” If it was only this story, it seemed to sound troublesome, but I had never thought of it as troublesome. The bad man is not because he understood it in his hand. I think I’ve had quite a bit of news while I’m talking, but when I meet and greet them in a different place, I feel a little lonely because
I don’t remember “somebody.”

I secretly respected such a little uncle. Because I thought he was actually a great artist. Uncle Choyi’s house was only five ahead of us. It was at dusk that I found out when I was taking a walk in Tsuyazaki in a yukata. There was a house with many name tags. Even if it was said the nameplate, the name was written on the tree of all shapes from the one like the shape of the shape of the pumpkin board to the piece of the tree of the sning shape by “Kure” and “Kure” and magic again and again with a strong pen pressure. The collection of the innumerable name tags was the culmination of the uncle’s those who lived without fear without being bound by pre-ed notions, and who had lived without lying up to now. The balance of the thick part and the thin part of the character was exquisite, and the composition of the arrangement of the name tag was complicated, and I was surprised whether there was such a balance. I thought that the name tag group might be very wonderful as a work of art, and it was able to be seen every time it passed 100.

 In fact, I had to have extraordinary respect for artists. It was around that time that I started taking a story class called Story Score. I had never written a story, but I wondered why I would go to such a place. I wondered if it was a place to learn grammar and rules, and my predictions were completely betrayed. I get the assignments I’m given every time and write freely. And, the teacher’s story is heard while presenting each other together. The story is amazing anyway. The teacher flies far above and tells us a story while looking at the big universe. As I listen to the story, I sometimes say “Eh!?︎”.

— Rewrite the story when it’s complete. Rewrite it to the age that the prototype runs out. Even if it becomes a work worse than the original story, it is a person who rewrites it.

– Write a story and let yourself face off against the world. And I must lose the showdown.

I heard the sound of my own shell breaking. I had never seen d’enough to believe in art as deeply as my teacher. The teacher and the art were one so that it was thought that the teacher might be art itself. It was a heartfelt pleasure for me.
“Yes, I really wanted to believe in art.”

One evening, on the bus from Fukuma Station to Tsuyazaki, I was watching the sun turn red in the sky, and I heard a voice from behind that
sounded like ” What is this?” Come on, uncle! Sitting two behind me, I point to a kaleidoscope keychain hanging from a schoolgirl’s bag across the aisle and ask” What is this?” “What is this? The schoolgirl shamefully turned her face to a different person and ignored it as much as she could. Sometimes I stared at my uncle with a sideways eye.

 It will see the spectacle disregarded as at this time several times though it was surprised that such a disgusting face is made when going out of the town one step though it is a little uncle who can be called out to everyone in the town in Tsuyazaki. Once in town became a tax accountant office. Once a sports gym in front of the station. I looked straight at the receptionist and saw a little uncle talking and a woman looking away through the glass. The appearance seemed to be condensed as it was the society that the uncle was watching. After all, society ignores the great artists I respect. It chopped my mind at the same time.

 The last was a large supermarket that was made recently. The boy high school student part-time clerk was repeatedly offered something, “Can’t you exchange this?”, but it kept being ignored. I felt like I had been ridiculed by a very important person, and blood rose hot on my head. The uncle looked back and looked back when walking up to the clerk.
Mr. Wu.
I was
de-empowered and said, “Go home.” It became somehow ruthless, and the aunt who had sprinkled water on the road was able to call energeticly, and to raise the face a little when approaching Tsuyazaki, it became somehow ruthless, and two people dropped shoulders side by side and
it walked with Tobotobo. When the streetlight of Tsuyazaki Senken-do was seen to be lined up ahead of eyes, the sense of security was raised somehow, and it became feelings which may walk with the uncle for the rest of one’s life as it was, and
tears seemed to overflow.
I said when I saw Wang Maruya at the end of the street. “Mr. Wu, don’t you draw

with me?” “Painting?” How do you do that?” “Get some paper and crayons, wait a minute.” I made my uncle wait at the earthen table at Wang

Maruya, and I ran to bring paper and crayons from home. I spread a large sheet of paper over the table and scattered about 30 crayons in the middle.
“What should I
draw?” “What do you like?”
I drew a mountain. The little uncle drew a small flower on the other side of the paper and drew a cloud on it.
I said, “Let’s give water to the flowers.” and rained from the clouds drawn by my uncle. He smiled and drew a purple sweet potato with an umbrella under it.
“Why sweet potato?”
“I don’t know.”
Saying that, he laughed. It was the first smile I saw. I said, “It rains from the side because it’s windy, and sweet potato gets

wet.” The little uncle laughed with a strange sound, and drew a brown wall so that the sweet potato would not get wet in the rain.
“Oh, Sly!
This time, when I try to draw a hole in the wall, I go out of my way with crayons while laughing. The uncle laughed indefinitely while running the crayon to the paper full of paper so as to oppose me who drew the river and the sea even if water was poured on the sweet potato somehow, and the drool was flowed slyly.

How’s it going? This is the power of art. This is what art I love can do.

The uncle came to present one coloring book every day from the next day. It is said that the coloring book is made by the day service. The pick-up car arrived at Mr. Wu’s house before 5:00, and it was perfect for 5:00 when I left my luggage and headed to us immediately. With the music of “The sun falls on a distant mountain” of the signal at 5 o’m, the silhouette with the head tilted with the sunset in the background comes towards.

In fact, my uncle came to laugh a lot. When I pointed to the coloring book and said, “I painted a doll today, didn’t it?” The face is smiling, and it denies my picture.
It’s so
lovely.” “No, it’s not nice.” Even though it was said that it was not wonderful, the number of colors of coloring pictures that had been painted only in some places at first increased steadily, and more places were
painted, and the pen pressure also became stronger. “I want to see Mr. Wu’s paintings, not coloring book.”, but “I’m not drawing. It said only.

Sometimes he came to talk about his life. It is said that there is a disease in the skin of the hand, the skin is peeled off, and it embarrasses it at the time of washing and washing dishes.
“There is no game insect?”
“There is no insect repellent. When I had it examined at the hospital, I could see the fungus.”
I was convinced that it was true from uncle’s way of saying. However, it was thought that it was disgusting if it moved if it was an insect repellent after all unconsciously, and the coloring book with a lot of brown stains was also somehow concerned, and the place to pick up unconsciously when receiving the coloring book was chosen for a moment.

Tsuyazaki has a shrine called Hatari Shrine that local people cherish. Tsuyazaki Gion Yamakasa, which has been around for more than 300 years, is dedicated to Namiri Shrine with mountains higher than the roof paraded through narrow alleys. This year, the town was very excited by the 800th year festival of Hao ori Shrine. There was a big discovery of the century during the large cleaning which made the town from the Wave orye Shrine. According to the story of the aunt in the neighborhood, when Mei-chan of Wang Maruya shifted to clean the kamitana where Princess Seorizu, the guardian deity of the shrine, was enshrined, there was a small hole in the part of the floor. The wind comes from the hole when I touch whether it is better to fill it or how deep it is. This may be a bigger hole than I think, and if you look inside with a flashlight, you can see some books. When I got into a lot of noise and looked into this, it was apparently not written when The Wave or Incident Shrine was built 800 years ago.

After that, the person and the announcer with a big camera crowded all over a small town like the television and the newspaper journalist every day, and overflowed with tourists. A set of researcher-like people entered the main hall in the middle where the police surrounded the shrine, and got in the car holding a box that seemed to be some important in the sound of the shutter of the camera. The number of tourists gradually decreased in the following weeks, and when the television and the newspaper got tired of Tsuyazaki completely, the president was cleaning the precincts when going to The Wave ori Shrine. When the researchers examined the book afterwards, it was said that the wishes of the people of Tsuyazaki 800 years ago were written. It taught me. And most of them were “May The Wave ory shrine protect Tsuyazaki forever”. It was said that it was not possible to do so very much, and it donated it to the museum unwillingly though the president really wanted to return the wish to the original hole again. But because there was such a thing with great great end, I heard that we would write a wish in front of it and put it in the hole instead of just blocking the hole.

I was thrilled to imagine that my wishes would be seen by people hundreds of years later who have slept under the shrine. I ran around the town, distributed paper to various people, and asked everyone to write their wishes. Since the wishes of 800 years ago have come true, our wishes will surely come true. What wish should I write?

 At that time, ‘The sun falls on a distant mountain’ was flowing by the broadcasting in the town. “It’s five o’time. Hey uncle is coming. I’ll have uncle write my wishes.”
When I ran home, my uncle was just heading for us. He had today’s coloring book in his hand, and when he saw me, he grinned and said, “Yes. As soon as I received the coloring book, I handed over the paper I had and said, “You know, can you write your wishes on this paper? Then God might come true.” I was so angry. I was expecting him to accept it with a smile, but he clouded his face.
“Wish?” I
explained how I’ve been so far.
“You can do anything, the bigger your dream is. Let’s go big. You can write what you like, like you want to be a Hollywood star or become an astronaut and go to the moon.” I was excited to see what kind
of dream would come out of uncle Cho.

However, the smile disappeared from uncle’s face a little, and it became a face-down like clearly upset. After a while of silence, he opened his mouth with a troubled face.
“What should I
write?” “You can write anything. What I like. It’s fun to be buried under God. It may be 800 years before it can be opened next time. Oh, I wonder who will see it. I’m not a person an alien ane. The uncle who floats sideways looks at me, and looks at the paper in his hand with the face which does not boil up very much,

and says, “Writing. What should I do if I write it?” No, I can’t write it.” Say that you do not know if you write or do not write. I began to get a little annoyed as to why I didn’t do such a fun thing.
“Why don’t you write it?” You can do anything.” The uncle began to get irritated as if he had guessed my irritation, and said, “Return the coloring book a
little while ago.”.
“Why don’t you give it back?” he asked.
「…… I don’t know.”
“Did you want to
re-draw it?” “………… I don’t know.”
The face of the little uncle is getting more and more tinged.
“You can hate me like that. It’s not scary. Look, like when we drew together at That Wang Maruya, open your heart…” Suddenly uncle Ding-hee
took the coloring book from me.
I shout in amaze.
he shouted angrily.
“What’s enough!”
He turned his back on me and started walking.
“What is it, Mr. Wu’s idiot!”
I was so excited that at last I told off words that adults shouldn’t use for adults. The little uncle went home without looking around.

The next morning, a piece of paper with many wishes was delivered to me.
—I want to go to the Olympics on land.
— I want to create a new genre of music.
—I want to publish a picture book in France.
wrote that I wanted to do live painting with artists from
all over the world.

It is already evening when I put together a lot of wishes and prepare to take it to Hatari Shrine. Then the sun fell on a distant mountain and began to flow.
(I wonder if uncle will not come today. I
went outside to think back to yesterday’s dispute with my uncle. No one is walking in the back alley where the sunset is over.
(Hey Uncle, I’m going to get angry.) At
that time, I saw something in the mail. When I opened the mail box, a piece of paper and a
coloring book were rushed into me.
(Oh, my God, uncle!) He wrote me a wish! My heart was
buzzing. I hurried into the house, sat on the tatami mat, took a deep breath, and spread the paper. There, in the trembling character of the uncle.

—May hand disease improve

It was written only.

The shock ran like being shot in the head. What was I up to? Before I d know it, I misunderstood it as if I were the only savior who would save uncles using art, the only good understanding of uncles. But all I did was hurt my uncle more deeply than anyone else. I recalled a number of actions that I had unconsciously avoided touching my uncle’s hand. Rather, only the one like me was deeply damaged by the uncle. I knelt on the spot and shed tears so much that I couldn’t breathe. The tears I shed after this were not from the mistakes I made, but from the despair of “Art can’t do anything after all.”

He disappeared from that day.
“May uncle’s hand heal.” I
muttered and put everyone’s wishes in the hole of The Wave Ori Shrine.

I wonder what art is all about.
One said it was love.
One said it was sadness.
I wonder what it is for me. Maybe art for me is like a hole in the dark inside.